Forty Years
by justcrazy
Summary: Cristina/Owen, post 5-16. Two versions of what follows the "forty years" comment.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm shifting this story around a little bit, to give their conversation at Joe's a chance to go in two different directions. I still think that the "forty years" comment is going to freak Cristina out a little bit no matter what, but my hope is that she'd save that for Meredith and try to keep things light with Owen. Which would leave him with a choice to make. . .Wait, what's that you say about a promo?? Can't hear you. . . la la la la la. Anyway, former (slightly-edited) stand-alone chaper 1 is now chapter 2. Sexier, alternate ending planned for chapter 3. Still trying to decide how *much* sexier. : )

******

"Forty years from now. . ." She hadn't missed it. Even before it had registered the rest of his sentence, her brain had filed away the opening phrase. Cristina Yang wasn't the kind of girl to endlessly ponder the hidden meaning in any guy's every word – not even Owen Hunt's – but still, she would probably have revisited the "forty" even without his going back and putting it in bold. And _italics_.

She watched him for a minute, searching his face. She'd never met anyone who was so damned direct. Sometimes it was a thrill, and sometimes. . .Wasn't there supposed to be an order to things, some sort of logical progression? Like having dinner together before any potentially life-altering declarations were just put out there in the middle of Joe's? Instinctively, Cristina tried to keep it light. "Wow. You army guys don't waste any time."

He smiled, his expression losing any trace of nervousness. "What's the point in wasting time?"

"Um. . .you do realize," she leaned in, whispering so that she wouldn't be overheard, "that we haven't seen each other naked yet?"

Owen sucked in his breath at the images that called up, and part of him said _to hell with it, just take her home._ But he'd had this argument with himself too many times to count, and every time, desire had fought a losing battle against the demons in his head.

He absolutely hated this, hated the way she'd immediately tensed at his hesitation, hated having to say it all out loud to her. At least the first part was easy enough. "I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you."

"But. . ." She waited, trying to keep an open mind, trying to focus on the words he'd just said, the heat in his voice. But here it was, finally, the reason why they hadn't gotten any further than a few life-altering kisses, and she didn't know if she wanted to hear it. Her body felt like it was bracing for a blow.

"Right now, it feels like I spend every minute of every day trying to stay in control. And when I'm caught off-guard and. . .things start coming apart. . .you've seen what that looks like," he said, cringing at the memory of his recent panic attack and the mental image of himself drunk and fully-clothed in her shower. "I'm afraid of what'll happen if I let go all the way, I can't. . ." He stopped and sat staring at his mostly empty bottle of beer.

"What?"

"I honestly don't know. I just know that I'm right, I know that I'm not ready. . .it's just. . ." He stopped short again, shaking his head from side to side.

She looked at him quizzically, but didn't say anything, didn't want to push. "If the man I was a year ago could see me sitting here, talking myself out of taking you to bed. . .he'd kick my ass." He smiled sadly.

At the mention of the cocky army surgeon she'd met six months ago, Cristina felt a twinge of regret. "Why did you kiss me, the night we met?" she asked softly. She wasn't just trying to shift the conversation; this was a question she'd wanted the answer to from the moment he'd walked out of her exam room, leaving her stunned with his blue eyes and his badass "_so?_s" and that crazy-sexy surprise of a kiss.

"What's the point in wasting time?" He smiled at her again, with less sadness, but not willing or ready to tell her everything yet about that first kiss. He'd already been an idiot once with the forty years comment, no need to tell her that the rush she'd given him that first night had both ended his engagement to Beth and pulled him back to Seattle even when he'd felt sure that he'd never be at home there again.

But Owen was determined that she would at least know his intentions for the very-near future. "I don't want to mess this up, and I'm working on it. I'm trying to get there, I'm going to get there. I just want everything to be the way it should be when we make love. When we make love _soon_." On that last word, he raised his eyebrows and dipped his chin, looking up at her pointedly.

Cristina couldn't help but smile. "I can drink to that," she said, eyes never leaving his as she tipped her glass for one last swallow.


	2. Chapter 2

"Forty? You're sure he said _forty_?"

"Meredith - yes! That's the point! _Four. Zero." _Cristina was pacing the on-call room she had pulled Meredith into at the first opportunity of the morning.

"Wow." Meredith sat on the bed across from her friend and waited.

"Yeah."

"You haven't even been on your date yet."

"Yeah."

"You haven't even had sex yet!"

Silence.

"_Cristina. . .?"_

"I'll get to that in a minute. Just focus on the forty."

"OK. . .well. . .what did you say??"

"What _could_ I say? 'Shall we go pick out dishes and paint the nursery??' I made some crack about army guys not wasting any time."

"And what did he say?"

"He said. . ." Cristina paused for effect, "what's the point in wasting time?"

"Wow."

"Yeah." This talking things through with Meredith wasn't working – saying everything out loud again just made her anxiety worse. She bit her lip harder.

"And what did you say to that?"

"I asked if he'd noticed that we haven't had sex yet."

Meredith's eyebrows shot up in appreciation. "And. . .?"

"And he. . .got very serious."

"Oh." Her brow fell and furrowed in confusion as she waited for Cristina to continue.

"He has some. . .things. . .he's trying to work through. And he doesn't think he's ready."

"But he _is_ ready to say forty years?"

"_Exactly!"_ Cristina sighed in relief, her friend's comprehension finally taking the edge off the anxiety that was whittling away at her insides. "Exactly! I mean, what am I supposed to do with _that_?!"

"Are _you_ ready to say forty years?" Meredith cocked her head to the side and smiled, certain she already knew the answer. She was genuinely surprised when her question didn't cause another outburst from Cristina's side of the room. Not even a derisive snort of laughter.

Instead, Cristina felt everything go still inside of her. She stopped pacing and looked up, gaze unfocused, hands braced against her neck. Closing her eyes, she instantly saw Owen's face, the way he'd looked at her as he casually mentioned that it would be just fine by him if they spent the rest of their lives together – that _is_ what he'd been saying, right? In less than an exhale, her stomach was in knots again, heart racing to the point of discomfort.

Meredith sat watching her friend's face in the dim light and suddenly recognized the battle she was fighting. "You're in love with him," she said quietly.

Cristina dropped her gaze to Meredith, then pressed her hands to her face. Her expression was anguished. "But how?? _How_ can I be in love with him? How can I possibly be OK with this declaration of. . .of whatever?! Forty _years_, Meredith!"

"But you _are_ OK with it?"

For a split second, the calm again. "Yes." Followed by misery and intestinal turmoil.

Meredith's face broke into a huge, happy grin, and Cristina rolled her eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything," she said in the general direction of the ceiling.

Undeterred, Meredith stood and placed her arms around her friend. "It's going to be OK," she murmured, feeling really and truly (and oddly, for Meredith Grey) sure that it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So here's the sexier alternate ending. Decided to stop a little short due to lack of time and courage. : ) Thanks for the reviews!!

******

"Um. . .you do realize," she leaned in, whispering so that she wouldn't be overheard, "that we haven't seen each other naked yet?"

Owen didn't try to hide his grin, but he kept his voice low and serious. "What exactly are you suggesting, Dr. Yang?"

"I'm saying, Dr. Hunt, that that is one _colossal_ waste of time." Cristina cocked her head to the side, her expression as nonchalant as she could keep it, and waited.

Unexpectedly, Owen's face grew serious, and for a second, she thought she'd misread all the signs. But what he said was, "Isn't your place closest?"

Relief flooded her body along with a stomach-flipping wave of anticipation. "We could be there in five minutes. But I have a roommate."

"Twenty minutes. No roommate."

"Your place wins."

Without another word, Owen stood up from the table and held out his hand.

They walked back to the ER lot in silence, her hand still in his, sides pressed together. The air around them was charged, and both of them were breathing shallowly, focused twenty minutes ahead, counting down the seconds.

When they reached his car, he reached for her door, then stopped and quickly turned her body into his. He pressed her into the side of the jeep, and everything about this kiss was hard – the metal at her back, his cock against her belly, his mouth moving over hers. When he felt her arch into him, Owen pulled back abruptly. "Fifteen minutes," he breathed.

They didn't touch at all on the ride to his place, but each was acutely aware of every move the other made. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. When she pushed her curls back and trapped them up against the headrest, he had trouble staying in his lane. All he could think of was sucking every inch of skin along the curve of her neck.

Cristina watched him openly as he drove, amused that this seemed to make it even harder for him to concentrate. She loved his profile, the set of his jaw, the pleasingly rough (her skin tingled at the memory) red beard. She was insanely turned on by the way his thigh muscles flexed through his jeans each time he pushed on the clutch and the brake. Everything he did with his hands seemed to suggest something he would do to her starting in ten minutes. . .seven. . .three. She was absolutely certain that driving had never been this sexy before.

He let his hand rest on the small of her back as he led her into his building, and even that slight contact made them both walk a little faster. They took the stairs to the second floor – and suddenly they were there. Owen had the key ready, and they stepped through the door with more than a minute to spare.

He quickly flicked on the foyer light and bolted the lock behind them. Cristina glanced around, curious about his place, but wasn't able to make out much besides the large outlines of furniture. When she turned back to him, he was staring at her, gaze shifting hungrily between her eyes and her lips. Coming closer, he whispered, "I'd give you the tour, but. . ."

"Let's start with the bedroom." Owen smiled and offered her his hand for the second time that night. He led her past the rooms of his apartment, not bothering to turn on any more lights until they reached the last one. It was dominated by a simple bed, neatly made, and Cristina realized with some amazement as she looked around that she felt instantly at ease there, despite the conspicuous absence of clutter.

Owen watched with near disbelief as she approached the bed – _his_ bed – trailed her hand down the navy blue comforter, then turned back to him. Quickly and gracefully, she lifted her shirt over her head and let it drop to the floor. Owen was mesmerized by the sight of her – slender shoulders; small but perfect breasts, nipples just visible through the sheer black fabric of her bra; smooth, tight stomach.

Smiling at his expression, Cristina stepped deliberately out of her shoes, then slowly unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her legs. Her panties were the same fabric as her bra, and he could make out a small dark patch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. "Stop there," he ordered huskily, grateful that he could still speak, and then quickly pulled off his own shirt and jeans. Stripped down to his briefs, erection straining against the gray jersey, he crossed the room and stood in front of her.

Slowly, she placed her hands flat against the smooth plane of his chest, then lightly traced the lines of each muscle with her fingertips. He fought against an almost overwhelming urge to throw her across the bed and simply watched her as she touched him, her eyes following the paths made by her hands.

Finally, she looked up and into his eyes, and they stood motionless for a long moment before he reached both hands to her hair, and their lips crashed together. She wasn't entirely sure how they ended up on the bed, but when she opened her eyes, she was on her back, and Owen, using both arms to support his weight, was hovering over her, smiling, and taking her in. "Have I mentioned that you're beautiful?"

She smiled at the memory of coming home to find him waiting on her front steps. "So are you," she answered, keeping her eyes on his as her hands slid down his sides and around front to his stomach, fingers slipping just inside his waistband before he caught her wrists and brought her arms back up, pinning them gently to the bed.

"You are an impatient woman," he whispered, lips deliberately brushing her ear, before he dipped his head to kiss the spot just underneath that had made it so damned difficult to drive. Cristina's indignant defense of her patience – should she not have won some kind of medal by now?? – evaporated as his lips and tongue went about following through on his plans for her neck. She had no doubt that he'd be making it all up to her very, very soon.


End file.
